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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29787711">untitled 13 (qu'est-ce que c'est)</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/traveller/pseuds/impostures'>impostures (traveller)</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Old Guard (Movie 2020)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Dark Character, Dark Nicky | Nicolò di Genova, Explicit Sexual Content, Ficlet, M/M, Vignette</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-03-01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-03-01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-16 03:06:51</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>648</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29787711</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/traveller/pseuds/impostures</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>Where were you? he mumbles, and Nicky’s lips press against Joe’s fingers; he says, Shh my love, I’m here, right here. </em>
</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>8</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>43</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>untitled 13 (qu'est-ce que c'est)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>the distillation of a much larger idea into two brief sequences; a night of and a morning after. </p><p>CW for description of the death of a teen girl.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p><strong>1.</strong> </p><p>The creak of the floorboard, the dip of the bed. Nicky’s body, pale and blurry through Joe’s half-open eyes. He reaches out, touches the rosy smear of Nicky’s mouth. </p><p>Where were you? he mumbles, and Nicky’s lips press against Joe’s fingers; he says, Shh my love, I’m here, right here. </p><p>His skin is warm and his hair is damp, and Joe pulls him closer with one hand on the back of Nicky’s neck. He smells like a memory, incense and herbs, smoky and secret, and Joe inhales and holds it until he grows dizzy. </p><p>Look at you, Nicky whispers against Joe’s neck, his hand sliding across Joe’s chest. He tugs a little at the hair he finds there, pinches at Joe’s nipple and laughs when Joe moans. </p><p>Don’t tease, Joe says, shaking his head. He twines his fingers into Nicky’s hair. Damp from the rain, he thinks; silvery shadows trickle down the windowpane above their bed, casting strange patterns on Nicky’s face. If he listens, he can hear it on the roof, on the street below. </p><p>Would I tease you? Nicky smiles as he leans in to kiss Joe, and no, this is only promise. </p><p>Nicky kisses Joe until his mouth is numb with it, until the heat between their bodies has turned liquid and Joe cannot breathe. Nicky kisses Joe’s mouth until Joe says no, and Joe says more. He turns Joe over onto his belly and kisses Joe again, and again, and again. </p><p>I can’t, Joe says after a while, sweat and tears streaking his face with salt. Nicky’s tongue is relentless inside him, Nicky’s fingers so demanding inside him; Joe is sure that never, ever in his long life has his cock been this hard. I can’t, he repeats. </p><p>I love you, Nicky answers, and presses deep. </p><p> </p><p>
  <strong>2.</strong>
</p><p>The air smells clean in the morning. </p><p>Joe lets Nicky lie in; Joe washes, prays, drinks a cup of tea and goes out to find breakfast. He collects cigarettes and newspapers from the corner store, crusty loaves still warm from the baker, fresh strawberries and oranges at the market. He smiles and nods at the gossip that floats around the neighborhood, chats with some of the men and flirts with all the old women. They have been so welcoming, these past few months. He’s not looking forward to leaving, but it’s time. </p><p>Nicky is up, washed and dressed, when Joe returns. He looks bright-eyed and happy, cursing at the gas stove that stubbornly refuses to light. </p><p>You know there’s a trick to it, Joe says by way of greeting; he kisses Nicky’s cheek and piles his purchases on the table. Here. </p><p>Joe turns the knob not quite all the way to the right, holds it for a count of three before turning it the rest of the way. The igniter ticks, and lights. Nicky swears again and thumps the moka pot onto the flame. </p><p>My hero, Nicky says, gathering Joe close. Joe leans back into it, resting his head on Nicky’s shoulder; they sway a little, listening to the sounds from the street. The occasional hum of an engine, passing voices, the distant wail of an ambulance siren. The coffee boils, and the pot lid dances. </p><p>We’ll pack up after breakfast, Joe says and feels Nicky nod. </p><p>After breakfast, he agrees. </p><p>Somewhere in town, a teenage girl is being reported missing. She will be found, perhaps not today but soon; her body arranged with great care in a white dress, a rosary held clasped in her fingers. She will have dark hair and pale eyes, and the inquest will discover that she drowned, that her last meal was wine and bread. If they are thorough, they will find that the wine was dosed with valerian root.</p><p>I saved her, Nicky says softly. This time, I saved her. </p><p>I know, Joe says, and keeps his eyes closed.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>to me, any dark version of Nicky must be based on the predicate that he believes, with his whole being, that he is doing the right thing.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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